Then the passengers were
inspected. I was rather nervous, for, truth to tell, my pockets were
lined with untold gold and notes. The Chief of the Brigands--a most
gentlemanly person--glanced at my coat with a slight shudder of pain,
and then raised his eyes to my head-gear. That seemed to satisfy him.
"Set him free!" he cried to the two ruffians who guarded me, "and
never let him see me again!" I never did!
Yours sincerely,
ONE WHO WAS SAVED BY HIS HAT,
_The Retreat, Old Closeborough._
* * * * *
[Illustration: A POLITICAL MILITARY TOURNAMENT.]
* * * * *
THE BUSMEN'S ALPHABET.
A is the Ache which the Drivers delay.
B is the Bus, which they're chained to all day.
C 's the poor Cad who is sick of his trade.
D is the Dividend that must be paid.
E 's the day's End, which finds him dead-beat.
F is the Food he has no time to eat.
G is his Good, for which nobody cares.
H is the Horse who so much better fares.
I 's the Increase in his pay that he waits,
J 's the fine Jump he'll soon take with his mates.
K is the Knife-board, which funds should provide.
L are the Ladies, who now go outside.
M is the Money that's earned every day.
N the New lines, that they start, and make pay.
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